


Watcher

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 19:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10225088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Haldir finds Lindir quite attractive, though all but Elrond disagree.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for aspen-song’s “Is Lindir attractive to other elves? Is it just his shyness that makes him blend him?? Do any elves have a crush on him and how does Elrond deal with that? I've always wondered when reading ur fics if Lindir is as attractive or if he's just plain and Elrond likes him a lot more than others. Would love to see a fic exploring this” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/158277692400/is-lindir-attractive-to-other-elves-is-it-just).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

“Our woods are ever creeping back, but your home seems much the same,” Haldir notes as they wander down another ancient hall. “You must tell my lord and lady your secret, Lord Elrond.”

Lord Elrond smiles kindly at him but says nothing of it. Perhaps, to the locals, Imladris is much different than it once was, and they would say the same of Lothlórien. Yet they don’t worry as the wood elves do, or at least, don’t look it—everyone Haldir passes shares the same serenity. He passed their own guard on the borders of Lord Elrond’s land, but those guards don’t seem to extend into the buildings themselves. They turn another corner, and Haldir muses, “I must thank you again for your generosity, my lord. It is not every day a humble archer receives such hospitality.”

“All guests are equal in my home,” Lord Elrond returns, and Haldir believes it. He’s even heard tales of dwarves staying here, though he’s thankfully yet to see one.

They pass an open courtyard, and Haldir turns to take in the foreign flowers, the ripe scents of spring and bright colours, but another elf distracts his eye. Lord Elrond stills beside him, and Haldir follows suit, while the newcomer walks swiftly towards them. Clad in thick robes of lavender and a silver circlet, he’s striking. His chestnut hair sways out behind him as he moves, caught in the idle breeze, delicate braids framing either side of his face. His features are soft, unique, pink lips full and hazel eyes wide. There’s an innocence to his aura but order to his countenance, a grace in his movements but a stiffness in his posture. He is, in a word, quite _beautiful_.

And he comes to stand just before them, smelling of fresh honey and cinnamon. He looks only at Lord Elrond and dips into a measured bow, only to rise anew and report, “My apologies for interrupting, my lord, but you have received an urgent letter from King Thranduil.” His voice is like a song, lilting and elegant—Haldir knows without having to ask that this new arrival must be a minstrel.

“Thank you,” Lord Elrond replies, before pausing to turn and lay a hand on Haldir’s shoulder. “I believe you have yet to meet our guest—he rode in with Elladan and Elrohir this morning, come all the way from Lothlórien.” The elf glances to Haldir as though noticing him for the first time, and Lord Elrond removes his hand to gesture and finish, “Haldir, this is my attendant, Lindir. If you should have need of anything and find me occupied, pleased do not hesitate to ask him. He knows at least as much as I, and he is essential to the smooth running of my home.” 

The elf, Lindir, flushes a faint pink across his soft cheeks, either from the meeting or from his lord’s praise. The colour makes him all the more enchanting, and Haldir finds himself stiffly bowing his head. Lindir dips low in something between a kneel and a curtsey, then rises again and murmurs, eyes demurely lowered, “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Haldir murmurs, “The pleasure is all mine.” He means to say more, though his tongue is uncharacteristically slow, but then Lindir returns his attention to his lord, bowing again, and swiftly turning to leave. He’s wandered down the corridor and turned the corner before Haldir’s shaken free of the spell.

Lord Elrond tells him, “Forgive me, but I must attend to this letter.” 

Haldir nods in understanding.

Then Lord Elrond turns to go where his attendant went, and Haldir, after another moment’s pause, follows.

* * *

Outside the library, Erestor frets over the notice board, peppered with different scraps of parchment that overlap and clutter all the messages. The rules and regulations should be dead center, but they’ve been shifted and half covered, which simply won’t do. He’s only unpinned five of the three-dozen letters when he’s interrupted by their newest guest. Haldir, he thinks, is the blond’s name—they met only once, several centuries ago. Either Haldir doesn’t remember him or Erestor has the wrong elf, because there’s no recognition in Haldir’s eyes when he stops to ask, “Excuse me, has a young elf of brown hair passed by here recently?”

‘Young’ is a rather subjective term for elves. Erestor turns back to his removal and asks, “Have you a name?”

He’s told, “Lindir,” which he takes as the one that Haldir searches for, as Lindir would indeed match that description. Erestor registers the similarity in the back of his mind—perhaps their young minstrel can be traced back to the southward forests. 

Aloud, Erestor says, “I have not seen him since this morning.” Then, on a whim of curiosity: “Why do you ask?”

Haldir hesitates. Erestor continues his work, and when he holds too much in his hands, he deposits the parchment on a nearby side table and begins placing them on that stack after each removal. Another board will have to be added—it’s the only way to fit them all. Glorfindel could likely make him one. 

Then Haldir seems to make up his mind and asks, “What does he do?”

For this, Erestor pauses. He glances to his guest, who looks genuinely interested, though Erestor can’t fathom why. He resists the urge to answer ‘very little,’ and instead replies, “Attend his lord, most days. On his rare times off, I believe he is a minstrel. If you wish to know more, you will have to ask him.” Haldir nods as though he expected all this. Then he opens his mouth only to close it.

On the second attempt, he says, “He is very beautiful.”

Erestor’s lips part in surprise. At first, he considers that he may have heard wrong, but Haldir gives no other explanation for his questions. To make sure, Erestor asks, “Lindir? Lord Elrond’s attendant?”

“Yes,” Haldir says, a note of confusion now slipping onto his face and voice. “You disagree?”

Erestor does, but it seems rude to stay that. He has to think a moment for a way to tactfully word his response. Slowly, he explains, “Beauty is, of course, in the eye of the beholder... but in Imladris, Lindir, who, to my knowledge, has been nowhere else, is considered rather plain.” Now Haldir is the one to look surprised, and Erestor adds, “That combined with his shyness, and most find him practically invisible.”

A small frown creases Haldir’s lips. Though a bit rough for Erestor’s taste, Haldir is, in his own right, quite handsome. Surely, he could do better, or at least someone who’d at least tried the guard—the pair seem a terribly odd match to him.

But that isn’t the largest reason they could never work, and Erestor begins thinking of a way to gently discourage this dead-end crush. In the meantime, Haldir admits, “Perhaps it is because I am from abroad; he is exotic to me. Your own people may have become too accustomed to what he has to offer.”

Erestor doubts that very much but only says, “Perhaps. Nonetheless, he is quite busy here and not the sort to travel. It is best that you seek fulfillment elsewhere.”

Haldir looks unconvinced but straightens suddenly, his gaze shifting to somewhere past Erestor’s shoulder. Erestor twists around to see Lindir cross the far corner, gone as swiftly as he came. Haldir offers a distracted, “Thank you; I will consider your words.” Then he’s rushing off, though Erestor doubts he’ll make it before Lindir’s disappeared in some other menial task.

Really, it’s none of Erestor’s business. Shaking his head to clear it, Erestor pulls free the final piece of parchment and turns to lay them across the end table against the wall. He’ll have to sort them and replace only those of greatest importance; the rest will have to wait until a second board is made.

He hears more footsteps coming and, recognizing the sound of them, continues his work. Glorfindel shortly appears at his side, golden hair catching the light in Erestor’s peripherals. Before Erestor can explain his notice board troubles, Glorfindel asks, “I saw Haldir speaking with you from across the way. What did he wish for? If he wants to test his skills against our guard, I mean to leave for a hunt tomorrow.” 

Glancing up at last so that he can see his friend’s reaction, Erestor explains, “On the contrary, he wished to know of Lindir.”

“Lindir?” Glorfindel repeats, already looking puzzled.

“Yes,” Erestor adds, “apparently, he thinks Lord Elrond’s attendant quite... oh... how did he put it? ‘Beautiful’?”

Both of Glorfindel’s brows lift high on his head. He is, without a doubt, one of the most arresting creatures in all the valley. If only he’d arrived a minute sooner, Erestor thinks, perhaps he could’ve redirected Haldir’s crush.

But Glorfindel is as kind as he is handsome, and he says only, “How... unusual.”

Erestor nods, quite agreeing, then begins, “On another note, I believe this board will no longer be enough to sustain all the letters placed upon it...”

* * *

Lindir lays out Elrond’s place setting, as he so often does, but then turns and scuttles off before Elrond can order him to stay. He always _tries_ to have Lindir sit with him, especially when there’s no nobility to hold any pretense before, but Lindir is set in his customary ways, and he’s likely gone to eat with the other servants. Instead, Erestor is the one to slip into the empty seat beside Elrond, and at least that gives him the chance to ask, “Erestor, have you seen our guest today?”

“I have,” Erestor answers in the midst of reaching for the salad. The table quickly fills around them; Erestor is always precisely on time. As Erestor scoops a sizeable helping onto his plate, he adds, “Why?”

“He is not yet here,” Elrond answers. He would’ve thought Haldir hungry after his long journey, but then, he may well have gotten lost, or perhaps he’ll be along shortly. In any case, a few minutes is nothing to worry over. Elrond sets his mind at ease as he takes the offered bowl from Erestor’s hands. 

Elrond’s halfway through scooping out his own salad when Erestor says, too quiet to carry across the table, “Perhaps he is searching for Lindir.” Elrond pauses, glancing aside and lifting a brow, and Erestor obligingly continues, “I am afraid he has developed something of a crush.”

For only a moment, Elrond’s chest clenches, then hurriedly releases, and something else warms him—pleasure, perhaps, that Lindir is finally receiving his due. He’s a truly lovely creature, and he deserves to be appreciated. It’s only natural for others to be drawn to him. He’s young, attractive, and skilled in all his songs. Elrond nods half to himself and muses, “I did not know they had met again...”

“I am unsure whether they have met at all.” Erestor reaches for the nearest bottle of wine and offers it to Elrond, and Elrond helpfully supplies his glass. “He spoke only of Lindir’s... _beauty_.”

Elrond hears the pause. His mouth thins for it. Unfortunately, he’s quite aware of what most of his people think of his treasured paramour. ‘Plain’ is the word he most often hears, but it’s never troubled him; he knows the jewel he has, and knows that if any others bothered to look beyond the quiet shell, they’d find a light to rival the stars. As Erestor switches to filling his own glass, Elrond realizes that, though subtle, Erestor is watching him intently.

He had only one flicker of jealousy. The rest has settled quickly. Elrond tells Erestor only, “He is beautiful indeed.”

Erestor tactfully says nothing. He doesn’t need to. A minute later, Haldir arrives, strolling briskly into the dining hall, and he approaches the head table to greet, “Lord Elrond.”

Elrond returns, “Good evening,” and gestures to the still-empty seat on his other side. Haldir comes around the table to take it.

Haldir doesn’t say a word of Lindir, which is for the best; he will have to find another to focus his attentions on. Elrond holds no malice for him; Elrond knows with utter surety that Lindir loves him, wholly and completely, and no other elf could change that. Perhaps not even the Valar could. There’s no chance of Lindir leaving him, and Elrond only hopes that Haldir has better luck in the future. 

Haldir finishes his meal and leaves the table before Lindir comes with the others to clear the plates away. Elrond lingers for the pleasure of helping Lindir stack the dishes, to which Lindir blushes deeply and insists he needn’t do so, but Elrond too thoroughly enjoys easing Lindir’s workload and teasing him for it. He tucks a few strands of Lindir’s dark hair back behind his ears when they fall too close to food, and when the dining hall is empty, Elrond kisses him chastely behind a pillar, and Lindir all but drags him to the floor.

* * *

When the night is fully on them and all their duties are done, Lindir hurries back before Lord Elrond can. He reaches Elrond’s quarters first and swiftly strips himself bare, wishing there were time to bathe—he’d like to do this wet, warm and glistening, but the day was long, and Elrond will arrive soon. Besides, he thinks, he would rather wait until his lord’s morning bath, and then they can share it, and he can wash his beloved Elrond while he soaks himself. 

Dry and dirty, Lindir divests himself of his circlet and untwists both braids, then slips into a silken nightgown, thin and not fully opaque—the perfect end to a trying time. Anticipation makes all the stress of guests dissipate. He hums to himself as he straightens it and eyes himself in the mirror, then wanders to the bed whilst finger-combing out his hair.

Elrond’s bed is large, soft, and the one place he always most longs to be. He rarely sleeps in his own quarters anymore, and he won’t let Elrond call these rooms _theirs_ —that wouldn’t be right. Besides, he _likes_ knowing that he lies between _Elrond’s_ sheets, for he’s always loved all things _Elrond_ , and finally _having_ them doesn’t change that. 

He pushes back the sheets and perches back amongst the pillows, eyes trained on the far doors. It isn’t long until they’re opening, and Lord Elrond slips inside, his crimson-gold robes glinting in the starlight. Lindir always leaves the curtain open just for this; he’s, somehow, managed to ensnare the most handsome elf in all Imladris, perhaps in all the world, and he always longs to see his lover in any shape and form. Elrond sees him immediately and smiles, shutting the doors and strolling closer to call, “What a vision you make, my songbird.”

“Please, do not tease me,” Lindir laughs, though he secretly delights in it, in the sincerity behind his lord’s eyes—he knows he doesn’t deserve it. At the edge of the bed, Elrond sheds his cloak, and Lindir crawls closer to help, fingers deftly reaching for the clasp of Elrond’s robes. Elrond looks so kindly at him.

Elrond threads a hand into his hair while he works and says, “I do not tease. You are gorgeous, and I am grateful.” As Lindir parts Elrond’s robes from the middle, Elrond leans down to peck his forehead, and Lindir has to restrain a giddy giggle. Elrond melts him every time. He pushes the heavy robes away, leaving only a light dress shirt and the tights below, and Elrond steps free of his boots to climb onto the bed. Lindir crawls back to make room, arms opening to take Elrond in them. He’s gathered up just as quickly and brought into a kiss.

When it ends, Lindir sighs, “I no longer care that that is untrue.” It always feels wrong to contradict a lord, especially _his_ lord, but he knows the reality of his looks. Still, his time with Elrond has cured him of all worry for it, and he genuinely promises, “Your want is all that matters to me. All I have ever wanted is you, and if I have that, I am more blessed than any other.”

Elrond makes a ‘tsk’ing noise. “You are blessed with beauty too, my love. If you do not believe me, you are free to ask our guest; I hear he has told Erestor so, and that he has a crush on you.”

For a second, Lindir thinks Elrond is joking, though Elrond doesn’t do so often and certainly wouldn’t over this. Then he squints anyway, examining Elrond’s face, but Elrond’s warm expression doesn’t falter. Lindir doesn’t know what to say, short of accusing Elrond of lying, which he knows just can’t be true. All that’s left is to accept it, and when he has, and the surprise has passed, he finds his feelings no different for it.

Elrond goes on, “It is true, dear Lindir, so I had best work hard to earn your love, lest you fly to younger options.”

At that, Lindir can do nothing but laugh, and it comes hard enough to shake his shoulders and make his smile ache. He insists around the bubbling joy, “There is no competition, my lord! I love you wholly, and what others see of me makes no difference, for your eyes are the only ones I know. If you will have me: pretty or plain, it does not matter. I am the one that is grateful, and I am yours.”

Elrond’s smile is so perfect. It’s heart wrenching, and for a moment, Lindir’s dizzy from that alone; from the soft scent of him, the gentle pattern of his breathe, the warmth of his arms around Lindir’s body. _This_ is all Lindir’s ever wanted.

Then Elrond kisses him, and he slowly tugs Elrond down, and they make love before the stars.


End file.
